AN: Sorry this breaks the style of the rest of the story - I did try writing it in letter format, but it just didn't work because as of the last chapter they don't need the letters anymore, so it didn't feel right trying to write another (not after Patsy's 'one last letter'). So hopefully you won't mind it being like this :)

Until the moment she stepped off the train, Patsy had been keeping busy. First there had been the ticket to get, the case to pack, the patient notes to hand over and a hundred little jobs as distraction. There had been a paper bag of peppermint creams to buy as a gift for Delia (a reference to Delia's first attempt to come and find her in London), and the rattling journey to the train station in Fred's van, listening to him talk ninteen to the dozen about fool proof ways to keep slugs out of your garden, and the outrageous price of oysters in the market stalls that week. There had been bustling crowds and queues and porters to deal with. Of course, there had been hours on the train with nothing to do, but she had spent the time writing one last letter to the pre-accident Delia she had kept in her head all this time – a final act of catharsis to keep her from going mad with excitement and nerves.

She became so absorbed that when the conductor finally announced her station she almost missed it and had to scramble to pull her case down and leap clear of the train before the doors were slammed shut. And so it was a moment before it really hit her. She had arrived. This quaint little station with its empty hanging baskets awaiting summer flowers and its short, dusty platform. This was her first glimpse of the place her Delia had grown up in. Patsy was distantly aware that her knees were trembling, and she was gripping her case so tightly that her knuckles were white with the effort but she didn't seem to be able to stop herself. All her concentration was already taken up with remembering how to draw oxygen into her lungs.

It wasn't until a young porter who looked barely past school age came over and laid a hand on her shoulder that she was able to snap back into her usual facade of competence. 'Exit's that way miss, just through that arch. Have you someone meeting you? Small town like this, we don't have taxis but it's only a short walk to the village proper, I'm sure I could find someone to take you if you needed?'
Patsy noticed that his voice wavered up and down a bit, as though he were not quite done with puberty, and he was blushing a little as he gave his speech. Somehow these things helped her regain her composure and at last she managed to loosen her grip on the case as she turned on him with a smile

'Thank you, you are so kind Mr...?'

'Fovant Miss, Harold Fovant. Harry'

'Harry. It is frightfully good of you, but I shall be quite alright. I was actually looking around for a ladies. I don't suppose you might be able to oblige me?'

'Certainly miss! Just there, by the ticket office'.

'Oh yes, so it is. Thank you Mr Fovant. Please don't let me keep you, I dare say you're very busy'
'Yes miss. A good day to you'.

Patsy left the blushing boy where he stood and nipped quickly into the ladies, out of sight of curious eyes. As soon as the bolt was drawn behind her she stood with her back to the door and took out Delia's last letter again. She had read it so often now that the paper was wearing thin at the folds, but the closer she got the more she needed to convince herself of what she would find when she finally arrived. Ever since the accident it had been too painful to hope for this moment. She had had to pretend that everything was alright and allowing a hope like this would have meant no going back, because if it hadn't worked out she would never be alright again. So she had wished for smaller things – a letter in return, a sign of recognition, a hint that Delia was not lost to her forever. Just enough to get her through one more week.

It was strange. She had been so eager for this – she was so eager for it, and yet here she was, so close and yet unable to bring herself to leave this dank little toilet and take those final steps. Delia was probably already waiting for her. It was painful, physically painful to be away from Delia, especially now she was so close, but still she couldn't help holding back, afraid somehow that it would turn out to be a dream, or that she had misread something in Delia's abundantly clear letter which would mean she didn't get to have the happiness her heart was already swelling towards.

Nonsense. All this sentiment was the very antithesis of Nurse Mount and she certainly wasn't going to fall apart in a public convenience, not after all she had made it through to get this far. Taking a step towards the mirror, Patsy looked herself firmly in the eye and squared her shoulders 'come on old thing, no need for all this carrying on. One last big push and the tricky bit will be over. It will all be worth it a thousand times over when you see her face. Curtain up time Patience'. Somehow giving herself the sort of pep talk she would give an exhausted mother in the final stages of labour helped and Patsy was able to step back out into the pale sunlight without the slightest outward hint of the tension that had dogged her steps all day. She aimed a jaunty wave in the direction of Harold Fovant, who was watching her with the puppyish expression adopted by inexperienced boys faced with pretty girls everywhere and strode purposefully out of the station gates.

Part of her wished to linger – to take in every detail of the road and the houses as she passed them by, imagining a young Delia peering over that fence, or taking a running jump over that puddle on her way to school. But she couldn't dawdle. Now she had broken through her nervousness it was all she could do to keep walking at a brisk yet unremarkable pace on the road Delia had described to her (after all it wouldn't do to be seen running, some beneficent neighbour might see and take it as their duty to follow her in case she was in difficulty).

Delia had not been wrong when she said Pembrokeshire was beautiful. It had been a long time since Patsy had been out of London and longer still since she had spent any length of time in the countryside. The air tasted different here. Of course, most places smelled better than the East End of London, but Patsy fancied that this cool, clean scent clung to Delia even back in Poplar, and it made the place feel almost familiar. She wondered idly if the stream she was now following over fields and through a little wooded copse was the same one that ran behind Delia's mother's house, or whether there were lots of them around here. Her mind kept up a running commentary on the scenery ('those stones would be excellent skimmers. I do believe those are snowdrops! How lovely. Goodness it's getting a bit muddy, I shall have to watch my step. I shouldn't have worn these heels'), but it was just nervous background chatter - already most of her attention was taken up in scanning the horizon for the first glimpse of a weeping willow tree.

It felt much more than a mile. Patsy would almost swear she had been walking for hours, and yet when at last she rounded a hill and saw the promised spot she was caught off guard, as though she hadn't quite believed until that moment that she would ever reach her destination. But there it was. The tree with its dangling fronds reaching down towards the water. The checked picnic blanket spread beneath its boughs with a hamper and two glasses of lemonade already set out upon it. And a small, dark haired figure standing beside it, her hands in her coat pockets and her eyes darting anxiously back and forth, as though she were searching for something.

'Delia'

The word felt like a shout but emerged from her lips as barely a whisper. Delia couldn't possibly have heard from this distance, and yet even as she said it their eyes locked and Patsy felt herself beginning to run. In a moment Delia was running too and Patsy let her case fall to the ground as her arms went up to pull Delia into an embrace. There had been too much space between them for too long, and now she couldn't bear so much as an inch of it. It was as though the distance separating them had been a physical pain that she had grown so used to she almost wasn't aware of it until it stopped, and the relief of it made her feel light and giddy.

Delia snuggled close against her, her hands tightly gripping the back of Patsy's coat and her forehead automatically fitting itself to the curve of her neck – the spot she always secretly felt had been designed just for the purpose. For a long time neither of them moved, they just held each other while the ragged breathes that couldn't entirely be explained by the short sprint returned to something approaching normal and the solid, physical reality of the other helped each girl believe that they weren't dreaming after all. Eventually Delia made to pull away and Patsy had to resist the urge to cling to her, because it felt as though to let go of Delia now would tear half her heart away too. But she had trained herself well over the years and she loosened her grip after only the smallest hesitation. Delia took a half step back. Just enough to allow her to gaze properly into Patsy's face, but not so much as to break contact altogether. Slowly, almost shyly, she reached a hand up to stroke Patsy's cheek. As her fingers made contact she let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding

'I knew it. I just... all along, I think I knew it. Do you remember... it was the very first letter I wrote to you, or maybe the second. It seems so long ago. Anyway, I told you then that my hands remembered things the rest of me didn't. I used to lie in bed and run my fingers down my cheek just like this because it felt so familiar and comforting against the back of my hand, but I couldn't think why. Now I know. This is why. Your cheek. I'd know the feel of it anywhere. Oh Pats, it really is true isn't it? You really were mine?'

'No Delia, I really AM yours. No past tense. Present and future. I am yours. Oh Deels. I can't begin to say how much...I know we have a lot to talk about. I know that maybe things are a bit different for you now and maybe there are things we'll have to work out. I know I can't just expect it all to be as it was right away. You've been through so much. But just for now. Just for this moment could you... Will you...'

'Pats? Patsy you're shaking. Sweetheart, what is it? What's wrong?'

Patsy gave a little laugh that was almost a sob 'Sorry, sorry. Nothing's wrong. Truly it isn't. I just wanted to say... to ask... Will you just dance with me Delia? I know there's no music and the ground's rather uneven, but I feel like I've been waiting for this moment for so long I might die if I have to wait another minute. Please?'.

'Oh Pats. I thought you'd never ask'.

Their waltz was rather slower and they kept rather closer together than would strictly be considered proper as they moved around the tree, but who was there to comment? Besides, neither one wanted to move too far apart. Patsy couldn't help remembering the night she had tried to teach Tom to dance. That had been a waltz too, and yet it had been so different. Granted, Fred had been there, and she was teaching Trixie's boyfriend to dance as a favour rather than choosing her own partner, but still... Fred's words came back to her as she gave Delia a little twirl before pulling her back into her arms. 'The waltz is all about protection. It's a dance that says, "I have you in my arms, my dear. All is well with the world". It's also about trying not to tread on the lady's toes!'

Patsy surprised herself by laughing aloud at the memory.

'Are you laughing or crying? I didn't think I was as bad a dancer as all that!'

'Laughing, but not at you! You're not a bad dancer, you're perfect. It's just... well, we're really here. You and me, after all this time. And you haven't stepped on my toes once. At the time I thought it was just Fred's usual babble, but I'm beginning to see what he meant. About the waltz that is, I had more than enough bruises to attest to the bit about stepping on the lady's toes'.

'Sorry Pats, I think that might be a memory I don't have yet, I've not a clue what you're talking about'.
Patsy shook her head 'you weren't there, I just wished you were. I was dancing with Tom'.

'Tom? Trixie's Tom? Whatever were you dancing with him for?'

'Oh Deels, you sound just like Trixie! Fred and I were teaching Tom to dance, so that he'd be able to take Trixie out of an evening. I was glad to help of course, but I can't tell you how jealous I was waving them off when not knowing the steps was the least of our obstacles. Now I think dancing in a hall to real live music couldn't possibly have been as wonderful as waltzing round a tree to the sound of a stream with you. I've missed you Delia. So much'.

'I missed you too Pats'.

Somehow, without really meaning to they had stopped dancing and were just staring at each other. Patsy's heart was beating almost painfully hard against her ribs, but she remembered the promise she had made herself to be the brave one, the one who reached out first. Very slowly, so that Delia would have ample time to turn her head or pull away if she wanted to, Patsy leaned in towards her. There lips met in a kiss that was infinitely gentle, like the touch of a butterfly's wing. She felt more than heard it when Delia whispered a single syllable against her lips.

'Pats'.

She made to pull back, to see if the word had been a request for her to stop, but Delia's hands came up around her neck and pulled her back into the kiss, deepening it into something that dispelled the last lingering doubts that the cautious part of her brain had been clinging to.

'Marry me'.

She hadn't meant to say it. Not yet anyway. She had meant to give Delia time to get to know her again, to grow used to the idea of a hidden relationship and decide whether it was truly what she wanted.

No, she hadn't meant to say it. But she did mean it.

'But Pats, we can't-'

'I know darling. I know we can never walk down a church aisle, or get a legal certificate, or even wear the rings that would proclaim it to the rest of the world. But when you were hurt I realized that what matters most to me is you. I love my job and I adore my family at Nonnatus, but when I thought I'd lost you none of that meant anything any more. Whereas there is nothing on Earth that I could lose that would make you mean any less to me. I'm not saying we should give up everything, I know that as long as the world is hostile to love like ours we can never live openly, it will always be a secret. I wish it didn't have to be. But I want to be the one you come home to. I want to still be the one you're coming home to when you're sixty. I want to grow old with you and see you every day on the way there. I want us to be married for each other, even if not for anyone else. I know I can't offer you everything you could find in marriage to a man, though goodness knows I wish I could. But all I have to offer is yours, if you want it. I love you Delia Busby'.

There were tears rolling down Delia's cheeks, but she didn't seem to have noticed.

'Oh sweetheart, don't you know it yet? I don't want everything. I want you. Of course I'll marry you. I love you Patience Elizabeth Mount'.